Parallels
by Scribbler
Summary: Three thousand years isn't enough to stop a personal relationship when it's meant to happen. Ryou Bakura and the Thief King learn this in several unpredictable ways.


**Disclaimer****:** Psychotically not mine.

**A/N****:** Written as a pinch-hit gift for usamimiyasuka for ygodrabble's Secret Santa.

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_**Parallels**_

© Scribbler, December 2010.

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When he is ten he sees his village massacred. He hides and watches, listening to the screams of his mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. He witnesses their flesh stripped from their bones by boiling liquid, eyeballs melting in their skulls as their screams linger in the air. And he sees the way they are shoved forward in a line, one after the other, regardless, by those wearing royal insignias and no facial expressions.

_I won't forget,_ he swears, tears stinging his eyes. _I won't. Not ever._

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**When he is ten he sees his mother and little sister die. He is in the car with them, playing noughts and crosses in the steamed up window, when there is a loud bang and the car swerves. Later he will learn the tyre tread was bald and blew because his father kept forgetting to replace it. Together, he and his family shoot over an embankment and hit empty air, creating a strange moment of feeling both too light and too heavy. **

**He regains consciousness upside down, just as firemen arrive to cut him and his father free from the wreckage. He can smell something acrid, like when they stop at the petrol station, and something else coppery and distinctive. He stares, uncomprehending, at the little white-haired figure dangling next to him, arms slack and blood dribbling over her cheek and forehead from the side of her mouth. **

_**I won't forget**_**, he swears at the funeral, tears stinging his eyes. **_**I won't. Not ever. **_

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When he is thirteen he kills a man. It isn't easy and it isn't fast. Afterwards, he stares down into the blank eyes, then at the knife in his hand. Chill sweeps through him, but it is followed swiftly by … elation. Satisfaction. Even pride.

A cold voice whispers in the back of his mind. He has been hearing it since Kul Elna, when he cowered helplessly as men wearing his victim's insignia took everything from him. The voice is pleased. It compliments him. He has done well, and didn't he enjoy the act in the end?

_I'll keep going for you,_ he promises, cleaning the knife and burying the body with quick, efficient movements. The desert keeps her secrets well.

The voice purrs.

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**When he is thirteen his father takes him to another country and leaves him there. He says it's so they can be close to family, but he remains in their little apartment with the list of phone numbers his father left and doesn't call even one of them. His father keeps having to go away for work, digging up foreign countries while burying his own grief. **

**One day a package arrives with a post mark in a language he can't read. A (guilt) gift, sent from Egypt. Some traitorous part of him is pleased at any attention. That part makes him lift the ugly necklace from its box and put it on immediately, even though his father isn't there to see. Chill sweeps through him, but is followed swiftly by … joy. A sense of freedom. Pleasure that he has been acknowledged, if only in this small way.**

**A miserable voice whispers in the back of his mind, telling him he's a fool to be so happy at the table scraps his father throws. He knows he is a reminder of his dead sister and mother. He shares their colouring, pale skin and white hair like a living ghost. It hurts his father to see him; that's why the man stays away. But he knows he has to stay positive. His father is drowning in his grief, but will come around eventually. He needs to be there for him when he does. **

_**I'll keep going for you**_**, he promises, cleaning the tarnished metal of the necklace and threading the frayed string with a new, strong cord. It sits on his chest like a giant medal of honour.**

**Deep in the recesses of his brain, something purrs. **

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When he is sixteen he leads an army against the king. He rides down on the royal city, his followers willing to die for him. He sweeps through the streets, exalting in the screams and the burning. The city will fall, just like Kul Elna. It's only just. It's only right.

He stands before the boy-king and throws down his challenge, knowing nothing can rout him. His is undefeatable. Finally, after years of planning, this is his moment. He had Diabound. He has all the powers of darkness behind him.

As he makes his impossible flight, the image of the boy-king's face is burned into his brain like a hot brand. It sizzles against his temper, clouding his thoughts. He won't let himself be the victim forever. He will have his revenge, somehow, even if he has to wait another lifetime.

_You're mine, _he snarls to himself, thinking of all the ways he would like to kill Aknemkhanen's son and his stupid court. When the time came to finish that unworthy wretch, he would be the one to do it. _Nobody else can have you. You're mine._

He rides into the night, a darker shadow in the blackness.

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**When he is sixteen he finds friends in the unlikeliest of places. He can't believe his luck, thinking it must be a dream like all the other times he made friends in Japan, only to have them ripped away again. He walks the streets of Domino City in a happy haze, repeating their names and marvelling that the aching loneliness inside him doesn't ache so much anymore. He has finally paid his dues debt for surviving when Amane and Mum didn't. He finally has something to look forward to each day instead of just the prospect of aspirin for his ever-growing migraines.**

**As his contentment is systematically ripped to shreds, one blackout at a time, he descends into the knowledge that nothing has really changed. Even when he does find the courage to fight back, it doesn't help. He is nearly killed, and after his friends save him, they are too. Over and over. And over. And **_**over**_**. Maybe he really is destined to be a victim forever. Maybe his destiny **_**is **_**to be alone**_**. **_**He withdraws, unwilling to put them at risk just because he's unfit to be around other people. If fate can take blood family, it can take the more esoteric kind they're at risk of becoming. **

_**You're mine,**_** whispers something in the dead of night; something that doesn't shut up or dissipate like a bad dream as he tosses and turns between sleep and wakefulness. **_**Nobody else can have you. You're mine. **_

**He fades into the night, soul becoming thinner than shadow in the blackness.**

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When he has lost count of how old he is, he dies for the last time. By then he is little more than a jumble of thoughts, emotions and random memories Zorc has pulled out and wrapped in evil magic. The pieces of him drift apart, held together by only thin threads of insanity and dark power.

_I was here_, he screams without words. His voice bleeds into a necklace, into strategies, into plans, into dreams and a memory world where he is himself yet not, and _still _doesn't get his revenge. _I mattered! I existed! The world won't forget me! _

Nobody hears.

And he is gone.

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**When he is barely sure of how old he is anymore – the number and duration of the blackouts losing him large stretches of time – he is reborn. By then he doubts everything about himself and his world. He could be just a jumble of thoughts, emotions and random memories left behind by the spirit of the Millennium Ring after it scoured his soul like an animal pelt for it to wear. The pieces left have been drifting apart for ages, held together by only thin threads of probable insanity and dark power. **

**And then someone reaches into the darkness to grab him back. It yanks hard, dragging him back to the surface of himself. **

**The magic sucks him back into his body as something else sucks the spirit out of it. He remembers his friends, their magic and their courage in the face of impossible odds. A pinprick of something makes him struggle one last time. It is a memory of the way they looked at him after Monster World wrapped in an emotion he hasn't felt for more than one lifetime: hope.**

_**I'm here**_**, he screams without words. His voice bleeds into a necklace, into struggles for freedom, into dreams and a memory world where he sees himself die, sees himself playing another Yuugi who knows that isn't really him, and then sees himself fall to the floor with a thump he actually **_**feels**_**. He continues shouting: **_**I matter! I exist! The world hasn't forgotten me! **_

**He wakes to voices.**

**And he has come home. **

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_**Fin.**_

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**.**


End file.
